


Storms With White Lightning

by nuuboo (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4968142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nuuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kakashi never did like the rain. But with someone else at his side, maybe things could be different. Maybe it won't be so cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storms With White Lightning

It was pouring out in a way that made it hard to hear his own thoughts, much less the sound of the doorbell. In retrospect, Iruka would think it was fate. Even though the storm felled a tree nearby and damaged the power lines of half the village, he felt almost grateful for the weather’s harshness. 

When he opened the door, Kakashi stood as though standing upright took the last dregs of his energy entirely. Drenched to the bone, he held a crumpled, damp paper bag to his chest, and gave Iruka a look that Iruka assumed to have meant to seem happy—instead, Kakashi looked sorely exhausted. 

“What are you doing out in this weather?!” Iruka asked, incredulous. Kakashi’s hair was matted to his cheeks and forehead, tangled in unsightly knots above his forehead protector.   


“Coffee,” he replied unhelpfully. Iruka stared, uncomprehending, and Kakashi elaborated: “You said you wanted coffee from Lightning Country. I got you some.” After a stunned five-second silence on Iruka’s part, Kakashi made another concerted effort to explain. “They’re beans. For coffee. From Lightning Country.” 

It didn’t seem to cross Kakashi’s mind for a second that at near eleven-thirty, and in such a weather, his visit would have been entirely unexpected. Iruka stepped aside and opened the door wide enough for Kakashi to come in, still sporting the same surprised expression from three minutes ago. Kakashi’s sandals squelched when he moved, and he dripped enough water onto the floor to dampen the doormat thoroughly. 

“I’ll get you a towel,” Iruka said. 

As he turned, Kakashi looked up and asked in a tone that reminded Iruka of a small, worried child, “You don’t… want the coffee?” Iruka turned back again to take the package from Kakashi, and paired his thanks with the most sincere, fond smile he could manage under the pressure of bubbling amusement. 

* * *

Kakashi stared at the shower in respectful silence. In  _his_  bathroom, hot water was on the left and cold was on the right, but Iruka’s knobs were different enough to cause him ten seconds of condemnable concern. It was only when Iruka called from the hallway that Kakashi cleared his throat, shook his head, and bravely turned on the shower-head. Icy water hit him in a harsh, stinging spray, but it was hardly so different from the storm outside that he managed not to flinch. When it warmed, he sighed and leaned tiredly against the tiled wall. The shampoo nearby was strawberry scented, and was housed in a container too familiar to miss. He thought to ask whether Iruka found its benefits as impressive as Pakkun did, and stored the question away for later. 

He never did get around to asking after that, but somehow, he was sure it was for the best. 

* * *

Iruka’s clothes were a decent fit. The sleeves were an inch too short, but the pants were warm and the blanket he was cocooned in smelled faintly of ink and cinnamon. When Iruka set a cup of steaming tea in front of him, Kakashi watched the vapours rise and disappear as though mesmerized. His expression didn’t change from one devoid of all emotion even as Iruka’s cat jumped into his lap uninvited. The rain beat against the roof mercilessly, slapping ferociously at the windowpanes in never-ending torrents. On the wall, a plain, boring clock watched over them, and Kakashi found a shred of peace in the almost inaudible rhythm of its ticking.  

“Thank you for the coffee,” Iruka said again. Kakashi offered a slight nod in response and flicked his gaze from the tea on the table to Iruka’s face for the appropriate two seconds.  


“I was in the area,” Kakashi replied. Iruka couldn’t tell if that was in response to his unconventional visit or if it was an explanation for how he got the coffee, but Kakashi’s habit of little words in short sentences had become a norm for Iruka some time ago. Iruka didn’t mind it. He’d come to enjoy Kakashi’s presence, silence and all; what Kakashi couldn’t say, he’d show with actions, and that brought to light a side of him that Iruka was sure no-one else new. There was a beauty in this secret between them that made Iruka warm at the thought. 

“Do you want another blanket?” Iruka asked.   


“No,” Kakashi replied. The cat in his lap mewled, and he gave it a dismissive glance.   


“She likes you,” Iruka said, looking pleased at the sight. After a minute of silence, Kakashi picked up the tea and carefully assessed its temperature. Deciding it was cool enough to drink, he took an experimental sip. Chamomile. No sugar. A little too strong for his tastes, but Iruka always was one for bold flavour.   


“So do I,” Kakashi said eventually. He didn’t make eye-contact, and ignored the cat’s second round of quiet mewling. Iruka stared, holding his tea so that the steam rose onto his face. Part of him wondered at the statement, and part shot down his urge to ask after it. Kakashi hated cats. Everyone in the village knew that.   


* * *

Lightning lit up the sky, and all was silent and dark for the three seconds until thunder clapped loud enough to startle the cat. Even Iruka jumped in spite of himself. He stared worriedly out the window and wondered if Naruto was sound asleep despite the noise, and if he’d remembered to take in his laundry from the day before. Thunder sounded again, and the lights above them flickered uncertainly. Eventually, they went out. 

“What’s on your mind?” Iruka asked, only after a few minutes had elapsed comfortably in the darkness.   


Kakashi wondered whether the question came now because of the curtain the darkness offered, drawn around them now. There was safety in the nighttime. Kakashi couldn’t see Iruka’s face, and Iruka couldn’t see his. Maybe that was the point. If it was, Kakashi appreciated Iruka’s subtly. But he didn’t mind it if Iruka saw; he’d shown Iruka more than his face the minute he pulled down his mask for him: he’d shown him the chips in his walls, the cracks in his shields, even if he hadn’t known it himself at the time. And when it came down to it, he knew that he was grateful for Iruka—for his presence, for his comfort, for the way he smiled at him and laughed at his jokes, for the way he saw past his facade and soaked in what Kakashi was at his core without shrinking at its weight. Iruka’s strength was admirable. Coupled with his kindness, it made him an indomitable force. 

But it wasn’t the tea, or the cat, or Iruka. The sneaking trickle of heavy guilt began in his hands and up his arms until it wormed its way to his core, tight and merciless. It whispered in his ear and echoed in his mind, spreading to the dusty corners and locked places he tried not to revisit on better days. But today wasn’t a better day, he thought. Not with this rain. 

It rained on that day, too. He remembered the smell of the damp earth, soggy under his feet, and the way the suction of mud against his shoe felt as he ran. He remembered the chill of cold rain on his skin, and the way his hair clung to his head and his neck, itchy and uncomfortable. Everything remained clear in his mind, from the wind stinging his good eye to the way Rin’s skirt flapped around her legs, drenched. He remembered the sound of a thousand birds screaming around him, and the look on her face as lightning lit up her skin. She looked ethereal then, just for that moment, with the glow under her chin highlighting the curve of her cheeks and the edge of her nose and the delicate tips of her eyelashes. Her eyes were haunting, unblinking. She was a ghost lit in ice blue, forever lingering, waiting, watching. He couldn’t escape her. He didn’t want to. When it rained like this, he wondered if it was her way of reminding him of his failures. Light drizzles were her sadness, and storms were her rage. Tonight, even the heavens were shaking. 

“Nothing,” said Kakashi.   


Iruka remained silent. The steam from his cup continued to rise, cooling on his skin until the next cloud came. 

“Okay,” Iruka replied. Three minutes later, the lights came on. 

* * *

“You should rest.”  


Kakashi looked up at the suggestion, then looked to the window.

“Here, I meant. You can’t go back out in that weather. Stay here for the night.” When Kakashi made no reply, Iruka said, “It’d be bad if you caught a cold.” 

“Idiots don’t catch colds,” Kakashi offered. There was a drop of subtle amusement there that caused Iruka to grin. When Kakashi looked over, he felt victorious.  


“That’s true,” Iruka replied.   


“I’ll be using your couch, then. Thank you.”  


Iruka’s grin softened into a fond smile, and a sudden bout of shyness forced Kakashi to examine the details of Iruka’s flooring with a keen eye. 

* * *

Armed with a pillow and another thick blanket, Iruka waited for Kakashi to detangle himself from the one he’d been seeking refuge in. The rain had lost much of its ferocity in favour of becoming a steady, tired downpour, and much of the wind’s eerie howling had died down. 

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” Iruka offered.   


Kakashi nodded from beneath the pile of blankets. Having stretched himself comfortably on Iruka’s couch, he’d come to the understanding that sleeping there meant sharing prime space with the cat. It curled itself into a compact ball near his waist, purring contentedly. 

“And, just—call me if you need anything. My door’s just there.”   


Iruka seemed almost hesitant to leave. Kakashi couldn’t understand why, but he noted the way Iruka lingered, the way his stare never left Kakashi’s face, the way he curled and uncurled his fingers on one hand. Iruka moved forward, and Kakashi watched him pull the blankets around his shoulders until they were tucked in neatly. As if it was only natural, Iruka smoothed back the hair from Kakashi’s forehead and watched it spring back into place. His hand was warm and dry, and Kakashi likened it to summer and sunny afternoons and welcomed, but ultimately undeserved comfort. 

He could feel himself slipping, stumbling deeper into dangerous, unknown waters. This was no good. Not really. He couldn’t afford himself the luxury of this man’s warmth and kindness. He couldn’t chance the risk of love. But here he was on Iruka’s couch with Iruka’s cat and Iruka’s hand on his head, and he wondered: could he stop it all tomorrow? The uncomfortable knot in his stomach was an answer enough. He’d long gone past the point of no return—and worse than that was the undeniable truth that he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to leave this warmth, or this kindness, and if the whirlwind of feelings Iruka stirred in him amounted to the affection he thought himself sorely unworthy of, then it was just one more thing to shoulder. If he was guilty of loving, then he’d bear that guilt like he bore the rest of it. He was good at that. 

“Hey,” Iruka said, cutting through Kakashi’s thoughts abruptly. “It’s alright. Everything’s fine… and you’re okay.”

Kakashi didn’t reply, and Iruka didn’t expect him to. Iruka’s stare was patient, and Kakashi wondered what other magic tricks Iruka had up his sleeve. A small voice suggested that maybe he really was so transparent. Kakashi didn’t like the thought, but he reluctantly enjoyed the lopsided curve of Iruka’s mouth and the way his eyes thinned fondly. Iruka’s words echoed around him, quiet and steady. _Everything’s fine_ , he thought.  _Everything’s fine…_

* * *

When Iruka woke in the morning, he was pleasantly surprised to find Kakashi still asleep on the couch. The cat had taken to resting on top of Kakashi’s hip, happy with its new, warm bed. 

Outside, the rain had stopped and the clouds had moved aside just enough to let small bits of sunlight peek through. The birds had returned, chirping happily about their survival. Gently, Iruka brushed a stray lock of hair from Kakashi’s forehead, and let his fingers linger near the stubble on Kakashi’s jaw for just a moment. Kakashi breathed out, furrowing his brows as he dreamed of something just beyond his reach. 


End file.
